Selected Poems

by Walter de la Mare, Matthew Sweeney (Editor)

Walter de la Mare (1873-1956) was born in Charlton, Kent. In 1890, aged 16, he began work in the statistics department of the London office of Anglo-American Oil. In 1907 he published his first collection of poems under the pseudonym Walter Ramal, but he soon established a wide popular reputation in his own name as a leading poet of the Georgian period with volumes like The Listeners (1912), Peacock Pie (1913), Motley (1918) and The Veil (1921). This selection combines poems written for adults and children, the latter of which W. H. Auden commends as unrivalled in their 'revelation of the wonders of the English language...'

Genres: Poetry, Read For School

124 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1954

About the author

Walter John de la Mare was an English poet, short story writer and novelist. He is probably best remembered for his works for children, for his poem "The Listeners", and for his psychological horror short fiction, including "Seaton's Aunt" and "All Hallows". In 1921, his novel Memoirs of a Midget won the James Tait Black Memorial Prize for fiction, and his post-war Collected Stories for Children won the 1947 Carnegie Medal for British children's books.

Reviews

[Ulysse · Rating 4 out of 5]

Obscure turn-of-the-century poet
Oh how I envy thee
No hipster dare adorn his throat
With your fine minstrelsy

You wrote before the wars had torn
Large holes in young men’s coats
Before Great Pan had lost his horns
Among the billygoats

Back then a poem was musical
A song to sing in bars
To drown in pints of syllables
Your five unlucky stars

The songs you sung awoke with hues
The rainbows of the mind
The things you said were red and blue
Could make the blind unblind

Well that’s a slight exaggeration
You weren’t exactly Christ
You never were a big sensation
But Jesus could you write

And you’d a thing some poets lack
And that’s a sense of humour
A tiny secret in your sack
That makes the Tragic truer

Obscure turn-of-the-century poet
Oh how I envy thee
No hipster dare adorn his throat
With your fine minstrelsy

[Kristina · Rating 4 out of 5]

“Sweet is that Earth, though sorrow and woe it have,
Though parched, at length, the milk within its breast;
And then the night-tide of the all-welcoming grave
For those who are weary, and a respite crave:
Inn at the cross roads, and the traveller’s rest...”
*** The Traveller ***

I have always felt that Mr. De La Mare’s poetry belongs on a page opposite any Pre-Raphaelite painting: ethereal, fantastic, & natural. After falling in love with “The Listeners” in high school, I have always returned to his poetry when I need to escape to the (idealized) English countryside. This was a nice collection of his selected poetry; I actually thought Mr. De La Mare lived much earlier than he actually did, writing instead from 1906 until 1953. Sneaky poets! 😁

[Margaret · Rating 5 out of 5]

I was able to become reacquainted with "The Listeners" upon receipt of this book as a gift. It was one of those poems you didn't forget. It held you spellbound until the last line. It had been in a collection of literature that I'd read when I was a teenager. I hoped some day to read more by the poet but never pursued it. Now, having read a collection of his works, I feel like I've found an old friend.

Many of these poems are not very lengthy but every one of them had me enchanted with it's brevity and artistry. Each journey was always different.

Some are poignant. Some are silly. Some epitaphs. Some musical. Fantastical. Profound. Well worth every single minute it took to read them. I'm so glad to have found you again, Mr de la Mare.

'Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door...'

[Judith Johnson · Rating 5 out of 5]

Walter de la Mare may not be quite the thing in modern poetry circles, but I love his work.

[Greg · Rating 4 out of 5]

Walter de la Mare’s poetry is filled with Romantic imagery, and his themes share some of the same territory as William Blake’s fascination with mortality and various visions. He doesn’t seam to adhere to a specific form, but playfully tries various styles. At times his poems are haunting, and at times they appear geared to children rhymes. My favorite lines are the following.

“Not Only”
Not only ruins their lichen have;
Nor tombs alone, their moss.
Implacable Time, in markless grave,
Turns what seemed gold to dross.

Yet—a mere ribbon for the hair,
A broken toy, a faded flower
A passionate deathless grace may wear,
Denied its passing hour. (41)

“A Child Asleep”
Angel of Words, in vain I have striven with thee,
Nor plead a lifetime’s love and lyalty;
Only, with envy, bid thee watch this face,
That says so much, so flawlessly,
And in how small a space! (113)

The last stanza of “The Unutterable (September 1940)”
We stand aghast. Pride, rapture, grief
In storm within; on fire to bless
The daybreak; but yet wiser if
We bide that hour in silentness. (132)

The haunting beginning stanza of “A Sign”
How shall I know when the end of things is coming?
The dark swifts flitting, the drone-bees humming;
The fly on the window-pane bedazedly strumming;
Ice on the waterbrooks their clear chimes dumbing—
How shall I know that the end of things is coming? (140)

[Mikael · Rating 4 out of 5]

children-ish doggerels but dark and gothic i like